An Oscar Winning Performance

Washington DC, 20:44PM: So I’m sitting alone in my hotel room, watching the Oscars as they take place on the other side of this great continent. Elaine Degeneres has just come on dressed in a purple crushed velvet suit with trim. It's a mistake. She looks a little like Danny Kaye but a lot like Peter Kay. Months of preparation and she ends up looking like an extra from The Prisoner. But it’s an apt choice. Patrick McGoohan must have written some of these jokes. They’d probably be funny if I could remember the 60s.

And isn’t that Jack Nicholson sitting in the audience? Is he really completely bald? Can homesickness make a man delirious? Or is it these thimble-sized bottles from the mini bar?

It’s still a mundane opening. This year there are more nominations than ever from Mexico but not one joke about America outsourcing work. Now Al Gore’s in the audience. Huge roar of applause. I suspect he’s got a penguin in his pocket. And now Will Ferrell and Jack Black sing about comedians who never win at the Oscars. I should sing about strippers who get no readers. And now we’ve got two children presenting awards. Christ, this is too depressing for an entertainer to take. And on tonight of all nights it’s such an anti-climax.

Four hours ago, I was naked in front of thousands. America love Neil Kinnock. They really really do. Or did. Now I’m eating cheesy snacks and drinking from the mini-bar. Isn't that a metaphor for life? Or is it just a metaphor for my life? And I hate cheesy snacks.

As you can see from the shot of my act taken by one of my new friends in the crowd, America has been introduced to The Chipster. The whole thing kicked off in a darkened auditorium in front of at least 10,000 fans of exotic dancing. A single light picked me out in the darkness and the I began. ‘We’re alright!’ I cried. The audience cheered. ‘We’re alright!’ They cheered again only louder. I banged my fists on the podium. ‘Weeeeee’rrrrrrrreeee alllllllright!’ I cried. The auditorium almost came down with the sound of screaming. What followed was the best ten minutes of my professional career. To the theme of ‘Things Can Only Get Better’, which I admit is mixing up my Labour Party history, a proceeded to strip off.

After the show, I must have had a dozen offers of work on this side of the Atlantic. The money’s better than I get in Bangor and I’m thinking of taking the next couple of days to take up from of the offers I can manage in the Washington area.

Okay, Alan Arkin won best supporting actor. Things aren’t so bad. Now here comes Al Gore. I’m going back to the mini-bar. I don’t think there’s enough drink in there to make this any less painful.